


(Fake) Winter Weather Brings Us Together

by Rawren (Zimothy)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Hypothermia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimothy/pseuds/Rawren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So naked cuddling with Derek while suffering from hypothermia wasn't really on Stiles' to-do list for the week, but neither was that kiss--so who was Stiles to complain?</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Fake) Winter Weather Brings Us Together

**Author's Note:**

> for lisa who wanted hypothermia/blanket scenario and cooking together and first kisses  
> also thanks for the title [Ellie](http://babyimnotfoolin.tumblr.com/)

A week ago, Stiles had been delighted over the early onset of winter and the absurd, unnatural abundance of snow. Now, with the knowledge that it was an ice elemental hell-bent on giving everyone in the town a bad case of hypothermia, he was regretting having wasted two days building snowmen instead of actually attempting research. 

Derek’s car had already been totaled four days in after the wraith had iced over all of his wheels and forced the car to fishtail and wrap around a tree, which left them with Stiles’ jeep as the only covered mode of transportation in their search. The elemental had a massively wide range, covering the town in snow and hail while remaining in constant motion from one place to another. The only way for them to even get remotely close to pinpointing the creature was to search every nook and cranny of Beacon Hills.

The twins were covering the search in the city, Allison and Isaac scouring the east side, and Lydia was dragging Scott all over the south corner. Stiles had dropped Peter and Cora off near the west end of the city before he and Derek made their way up north towards the Hale house. Stiles hadn’t seen the place since Derek had left, but he had a pretty good feeling that the rubble of Derek’s former home was more like an igloo than anything at this point.

Stiles had absolutely no warning but a hissing noise and ice crackling over his windshield before the creature appeared before them as an enraged snarling mass of icicles and hail. He had to squint to even find an outline of a body but all he could really see was a twisting and whistling current of wind wrapping itself around the elemental. No wonder the thing had been so hard to find. It was practically nothing but ice and air. 

When he realized that the wraith wasn’t going to move, Stiles sucked in a sharp breath, let out an utterly unmasculine screech, and slammed on the breaks. He wrenched the wheel to the side to try and avoid collision, heart leaping into his throat and his mind hysterically taking relief in the fact that he’d put his seatbelt on earlier. There was a jarring movement and the sound of ice scraping, giving Stiles only a few seconds to register that the front half of the jeep, including the wheels, had been completely frozen over. 

He didn’t realize they were flipping until the only thing keeping him in his seat was his seatbelt. His body lurched, a yell of terror escaping him, stomach churning with horrible vertigo and that same twisting sensation he got on the loops on roller coasters. There was a moment of suspension, where Stiles turned to see Derek clutching the dashboard with a look of sheer panic on his face, and then they hit and Stiles blacked out to the sound of crunching metal and his own screaming. 

 

Stiles came to with a sharp and sudden gasp of air, disoriented and vision cloudy. He must have only been knocked out for a minute or two, because Derek was outside of the car, wolfed out and in the middle of some kind of duck-and-roll tango with the elemental. Snow was gusting around them, shading half of the fight from view. It took Stiles a second to realize he was having a hard time seeing because a blizzard had kicked up around them, blowing through the broken windows of the jeep and making Stiles’ fingers and nose ache from it.

A snarl came from Derek before he lunged, taking a swipe at the wraith and then stumbling when it swerved out of the way and left him swinging at empty air. The creature released an ear-splitting shriek, firing icicles into Derek's back so hard they embedded themselves into his flesh. Derek howled, dropping to one knee while his body tried to heal and push the ice shards out. He stood, stumbling a few feet and then forcing himself to stand straight, running at the elemental again.

Head throbbing, Stiles blearily patted at his chest, glancing around the jeep for something to use as a weapon. He could see his bat a few feet away, having rolled out during the wreck, but Stiles had a feeling it would be useless against something composed mainly of ice and wind. His head hurt, stomach screaming in protest with every movement that forced the seatbelt to dig into it. The airbags had deployed at some point (after the tree incident last year, Stiles had made sure to get new ones installed) and were brushing against the roof, swaying with each gust of wind that burst through the windows. 

The glove compartment had fallen open, and Stiles almost wanted to weep with joy when he realized that Allison had left her taser in there at some point, because it was lying there in plain sight and begging Stiles to use it. He grunted, hissing from the pain in his ribs and face as he managed to unbuckle his seat belt. Instantly, his head hit roof as he fell, limbs jamming up around him. Pain flared through his body and it took everything Stiles had to ignore it all. He rolled to the side, entire body screaming in protest, and shakily dragged himself to the passenger side so that he could reach up into the glove compartment. 

Stiles’ head was throbbing in sync with each beat of his heart, ears ringing over the sound of Derek struggling in the road with the ice elemental. He could see through the windshield that Derek was far from gaining the upper hand and that panic of losing him only gave Stiles more incentive to snag the taser and pull himself out of the jeep. He used his arms to drag himself through the window, shards of glass tearing through the fabric, cutting at his flesh. His stomach was rolling, heaving like he was going to throw up at any second. 

Pushing himself to his feet, Stiles stumbled in front of the jeep, blood dripping down his cheek and temple, clouding his right eye. He squinted, shakily bringing up the taser to take aim and praying for a clear shot.  
Derek was trying to get a hold of the wraith, his right arm frozen solid and the left one swiping at the writhing, hissing creature that made up the ice wraith. As soon as Stiles saw his chance, he fired. Two prongs shot out and stuck right into the creature’s side, zapping the thing with enough voltage that it screeched so loud that Stiles’ ears were ringing. There was white, jagged lines of ice shooting back up the line of the taser, coating Stiles’ hands and traveling up his arm. The second it touched him, Stiles could feel the electric current of the taser wrenching at his muscles. 

It was like air was being sucked out of his lungs, body seizing as he collapsed to the ground, gun skittering across the asphalt. The wraith crackled, shrieking one last time and letting out a concussive blast of wind and snow that sent Derek tumbling off into the woods and Stiles flying back into the jeep, a scream of pain leaving him when he was slammed up against the metal hull. He pried his eyes open, hissing in agony and struggling to breathe as the ice elemental crumbled to pieces, leaving nothing but sparkling frost and bits of icicle behind. 

Stiles felt cold, like he was going to black out at any given moment. His body twitched and shuddered, muscles still suffering the after-effects of his impromptu electrocution. Both of his arms were covered entirely in ice, along with his chest and part of his neck. He felt like he was dying, like there was no air to breathe, and the sounds he made were barely audible--just soft, broken groans. His tongue wasn’t working right, jaw clacking as shivers wracked his body and he tried to call for Derek, only to eke out a raspy, pained semblance of his name. 

Sucking in another breath, Stiles pushed himself up to the best of his ability, leaning against the jeep and squinting his eyes to try and find some sign of Derek in the rapidly settling snowstorm. “D-Derek?” Stiles choked off on the last part of Derek’s name, a spasm of pain shooting through his back and his bones practically rattling from how badly he was shaking.

Derek came bursting out of the woods, running over before skidding and dropping to his knees next to Stiles. At first he didn’t move, hands hovering and eyes darting all over Stiles’ body as he assessed the situation. Stiles sagged against the jeep, relieved to see that Derek was in perfect health, other than a few twigs and bits of snow stuck to his hair and jacket. He tried to talk, to tell Derek they needed to get somewhere warm, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and his teeth were clattering hard enough that he was afraid he might bite his tongue off if he said too much.

Derek brought his hands down, claws out and scratching at the ice on Stiles’ shoulder and throat before Stiles made a pained noise when Derek’s hand went too far and he scratched the exposed skin of his jaw. 

Realizing it was too dangerous, Derek cursed loudly and reached down to scoop Stiles up into his arms. “Nnh,” Stiles grunted, rolling his head back to look at the jeep. “R-red ba-ba-ag. Fuh-f-firs-st aid. E-emer-ge-gency s-s-stuff,” he forced out. Derek settled him back down again, hurrying over to the jeep and searching around inside until he came back out with a small red duffel that Stiles had stuffed to the brim with any emergency supplies he could think of.

Stiles’ breath was coming out in sharp, rapid pants, voice a mantra of, “s’cold, it’s cold. I’m so cold,” as Derek hauled him back up and broke out into a jog, carrying him through the forest and up towards his old family home. Stiles, breath coming in short, pained gasps, took those few seconds to bury his face into Derek’s chest, the warmth of his body a temporary reprieve against the icy coldness of Stiles’ nose and cheeks. 

Stiles was still shaking, teeth rattling and lips so pale they were starting to look blue when they finally got to the house. Derek set him down on the torn and tattered remains of the living room couch, dragging it with one hand towards the fireplace to get it as close as possible. Stiles managed to push himself up against the arm of the couch but his hands, arms, and half his chest were so encased in ice that he slid right back down instantly. It was so cold it burned and Stiles knew he was starting to sound frantic as Derek struggled to dig through the emergency pack in search of the pack of steel wool Stiles had stuffed in it months ago. 

Shakily, Stiles brought his hands together, flinching at the last moment and stopping himself from smashing them hard enough to break the ice. He choked on a sob, cursing “fuck,” under his breath and trying again. All it did was make his arms hurt even more, to a point where he had to clench his teeth and writhe on the couch to keep from screaming out as his very bones rattled in pain. 

“Just hold on, all right?” Derek urged, rustling around and fighting with the lighter in his hand--the same one he always kept in his pocket--to get the fireplace going. As soon as the lighter flared and the flame caught the wool, Derek quickly started digging through his pockets, pulling out receipts and a sticky note and tossing them onto the fire before he rushed out of the room and came running back with some twigs from another part of the house that hadn’t been dampened from snow. Once the fire was no longer in danger of dying out, Derek turned and grabbed the couch with a hand to pull it as close as he could manage. 

“It hu-urts,” Stiles stammered, chest seizing in shallow, pained breaths. Derek got up on his knees, flicking his claws out and scowling. Neither of them had any idea how to get giant blocks of ice off of Stiles without hurting him, apparently. Stiles’ jaw flexed, lips wobbling from the cold, and he nodded. “Do it.”

Instead of going for the shoulder for risk of accidentally cutting Stiles’ neck, Derek dug his claws between Stiles’ chest and the ice, tearing and nicking at the flesh as he tried to get enough of a grip to wrench and snap. Stiles jerked, hands coming down to start hitting at his chest, the ice weakened enough that it started to crack and break away in large chunks.

“My h-hands, m-my ha-hands, ge-get-t m-my hands, f-fuck, _come on_ ,” Stiles urged, all but shoving his arms against Derek’s chest. Derek frowned, wrapping one arm around where Stiles’ thin wrist was hidden behind layers of ice, squeezing slowly but surely. Stiles screeched, trying to pull away with another shout of pain. Right when Derek was going to pull away, to try something else, the ice cracked. He didn’t waste another second, claws tearing away at it while trying to keep from harming Stiles any more than he already had.

By the time all of the ice was gone, Stiles was a sickening shade of pale and his breath was coming in shallow, pained gasps. He’d stopped shaking near the end, shirt and part of his jeans soaked fully with frigid water that made the fabric cling to his body. Stiles’ fingers were curled into claws and he struggled to pull his shirt off with them stuck that way before Derek got with the program and reached out to wrench it over his head. Stiles let out a pained noise, the glass in his arms from the wreck making their comeback with stabbing agony. He jerked his arms out, shoving them into Derek's face. 

Derek's eyes widened before he frowned, flicking his claws out and reaching forward to gingerly pick the slivers of glass out from Stiles' flesh. His eyes were glowing, searching for any missed particles, and it felt like an eternity before he seemed satisfied at having gotten everything out. He quickly snatched up some gauze from the kit, wrapping Stiles' arms with a quick efficiency that only came from having to patch up humans like Stiles and Allison on a semi-regular basis.

“There should... be some blankets,” Stiles murmured, eyes heavy and a painful kind of darkness creeping into the corners of his vision, “in th’kitchen...from campin’.”

They never actually did go camping. Allison and Lydia had decided that they needed to spend more time together as a group of friends and not a bunch of people thrown together during a time of mortal peril and had suggested a campout behind the shambles of Derek’s old home. It had ended with Isaac trying to strangle Aiden, Stiles getting a bloody nose from trying to play lacrosse with a bunch of rowdy werewolves, and Derek hiding in the house after Lydia had grilled him on his lack of a social life. The blankets had been left in the kitchen with a few other items because everyone had gone home before dark for one reason or another. 

Derek rushed off, coming back in just a few seconds and shaking out the leaves and dirt that had gathered in the blankets over time. He pulled out a slightly crumpled-looking box from under his elbow, setting it on the ground next to the couch and then reaching for Stiles to pull him off of the couch and ease him closer to the fire--but not close enough that he ran the risk of being burnt. 

Stiles shakily reached out, curled hands hovering over the flame and a soft half-sob of pain escaping when he was hit with the burning, stabbing sensation that came with regaining mild feeling back in the tips of his fingers. Derek stood, kicking off his shoes and then pulling his shirt and pants off. Stiles stared, barely able to hold himself up on an elbow. “Is-sn’t this a lil’ cliche?” he slurred, lips cold and tongue heavy in his mouth. 

“It’s cliche because it works,” Derek grumbled, kneeling down and reaching for Stiles’ pants. Stiles wanted to protest but his jeans were so cold that it was making his dick and legs hurt to an almost unbearable level. Derek removed them with a clinical detachment, maneuvering Stiles so that his back was to Derek’s chest and then grabbing the blanket to drape it over the both of them. 

Normally, Stiles would have been almost beside himself with a thousand different emotions at having the chance to be curled in close with Derek in an almost intimate fashion but he was tired and cold and in too much pain to do much other than lean back against Derek’s furnace of a body. 

Derek reached for the box he’d set next to the couch and Stiles wiggled around until they were chest to chest, peering up and recognizing it as disposable heating pads. Those had been a last minute decision to shove into the first-aid kit, originally intended for if one of the girls got cramps or something. He was grateful for them now as Derek tore both out of their packages, reaching into the blanket and shoving one behind Stiles’ back and the other down by the back of Stiles’ knees. 

He didn’t feel much warmer. His chest was hurting and it was painful to breathe and Stiles was pretty sure his hands had at least a little frostbite. He let his head slump against the wood floor, grunting when Derek shifted until Stiles was half laying on top of him with his face buried in Derek’s throat. His nose tickled, face aching against the warmth of Derek’s skin. He made a soft, needy sound, practically snuffling into Derek’s neck to try and push as much of his face against it as possible. 

For a second, Derek’s hands were hovering awkwardly in the tiny space between their bodies, before he finally let out a sigh and brought one up to cushion his head and wrapped the other around Stiles’ back. Stiles felt almost like he was dreaming, heart almost sluggish while his body struggled to warm back up to operating temperatures. The silence stretched on for a long and painful moment before Stiles couldn’t take it any longer, tilting his head from Derek’s throat enough to mutter, “I totally killed it.”

“Not before it almost killed _you_ ,” Derek pointed out dryly, palm hot where it was resting against the space between Stiles’ shoulder blades. 

“Semantics,” Stiles grumbled, turning his head back into Derek’s shoulder. Derek squirmed, stilled, and then squirmed again before he sighed and reached out of their cocoon for one of the rattier blankets. He grabbed it, bringing his other arm from around Stiles to wield the blanket like a makeshift towel, scrubbing at Stiles’ head gently and mumbling something about snowflakes and damp hair. Stiles wasn’t particularly paying attention, instead resting his forehead against Derek’s chest because his neck didn’t seem to have enough strength left to hold his head upright anymore.

Suddenly, Stiles’ brain managed to catch up to the situation, processing the fact that his body was on the brink of shutting down from hypothermia and that, if not for Derek, he probably would be dead already. Only slightly hysterical, Stiles let out a wheezy laugh that choked off into a groan, tears threatening to well up in his eyes. He felt numb, head roaring in pain and fatigue threatening to drag him into unconsciousness. “I-if I f-fall asleep, I might-t d-die,” he breathed, “don’t let m-me sle-sleep.”

With a soft snort, Derek tossed the damp blanket away and brought one of his arms back in to wrap it around Stiles’ shoulders while the other tugged the quilt up and around their bodies until only the top of his head was sticking out. “This isn’t a Lifetime movie, you’ll be fine.”

A retort was on the tip of his tongue when Stiles’ body let out a bone-rattling shudder and he hiccuped on a breath. Derek’s hand began to slide up and down his back, a warm friction to accompany the shivers that started to take over his body.

“M’s-sss-leepy,” Stiles stammered quietly, hands curled into fists and crushed between their bodies. He shook again, eyes drooping and gaze focused blankly at the skin of Derek’s collarbone. Derek grabbed his shoulder, giving him a little shake.

“Don’t sleep.”

“Yo-you s-s-said I woul-wouldn’t d-die,” Stiles pointed out.

“You won’t, but your body temperature drops in your sleep, which is the opposite of what we want right now.”

Stiles lifted his head, blinking tiredly at Derek and then muttering, “o-oh,” in a soft, pleasantly surprised voice. He grinned, chin trembling, and then drew in a shaking breath and settled back against Derek again as his body continued to tremble and shiver.

There was another prolonged beat of silence before Stiles shifted, making a small noise in the back of his throat. “H-hey, Derek?”

“Mmh,” Derek grunted, eyes blankly focused on the rotted wood that made up part of the former living room. Stiles didn’t say anything right away, taking a second to breathe into the warm space of Derek’s throat. He closed his eyes, wanting to memorize the feeling of being wrapped in Derek’s arms, and exhaled slowly.

“Do you ever get lonely?”

The answering silence went on for so long that Stiles contemplated apologizing for even bringing it up. Before he could say anything, Derek murmured, "all the time," quietly enough that Stiles could barely hear him over the sound of the crackling fire.

"I'm sorry our lives suck," Stiles said under his breath, sighing into Derek's shoulder. His chest ached, but whether it was from his brief encounter with being frozen or heartache, he wasn't sure. The warmth of the blankets was slowly bringing feeling back into his bones, body trembling through the slowly dissipating cold.

Shifting, Derek gave Stiles' back a gentle squeeze, "I'm sorry too."

Words caught in Stiles' throat, trapped somewhere between spoken and kept silent. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes and wishing the cold still overtaking his body would leave already and take the sluggishness of his thoughts away with it. 

"I think I'm cursed," Derek uttered after a few minutes of quiet.

"Hmm?" Stiles drowsily shifted against Derek's chest, shudders coming in less violent bursts and sensations returning to his limbs. 

"Everyone I've ever been with has died," was spoken so softly it was like a secret that had been forced from Derek's lips. 

"...or was evil," Stiles mumbled tiredly, smiling despite himself. Derek gave him a small shake, nothing angry or forceful, but familial.

"You suck," he grumbled, which forced a small chuckle from Stiles that quickly turned borderline-hysterical, face smothered into Derek's shoulder. His laughter broke off into a cough, violent and suffocating, that made Stiles shake against Derek's body. Derek rubbed at his back, waiting until Stiles had gotten his breath back before he muttered, "you get it, though..."

"Mmh," Stiles sat up against Derek's chest, muscles shaking from exertion. Derek stared down at him, eyebrows bobbing up in a hidden question and almost disappearing into the wet hair sticking to his forehead when Stiles rocked forward and pressed their lips together.

He sat for a second, heart thundering in his chest, and then sat back to smile shakily down at Derek. Derek's face was expressionless except for the small pinch of a frown in his eyes.

"What was that for?"

Stiles' breath caught in his throat, but he forced his smile a little wider, albeit crooked. "Well... I'm l-like a cockroach, r-right? N-nothing has killed me so far. I f-figured I should be the c-c-combo breaker." 

Derek stared, eyes boring a hole into Stiles' for a second before he snapped, "you're an idiot. Get back in the blanket." Without waiting, Derek wrenched it over Stiles' shoulders, arms winding around Stiles' shoulders and pulling him down into a warm embrace. 

Stiles snuggled in close, trembling a little. As soon as he settled, Derek murmured, "I said anyone I was in a relationship, not anyone I've kissed."

"We'll discuss semantics after I'm no longer on the brink of death," Stiles replied sleepily, head bobbing against Derek's chest when he laughed. 

The last thing he heard before drifting off was Derek's fond sigh of, "you're not dying, idiot." 

 

Stiles awoke to Derek rolling them over until Stiles was pinned beneath his body. He grunted, biting back a cry of protest and instead looking around in search of their supposed attacker. His eyes landed on Isaac, Scott and Allison hovering in the doorway of the living room as Derek groggily stared up at them.

"... Hi," Stiles eeped, squirming and wishing desperately that he could somehow worm his way deeper into the blanket until they couldn't see the fact that he and Derek were both in their underwear. Derek didn't seem to have any reservations about it, sitting up and letting the blankets pool around their sides.

Isaac was the first to react, digging his hands into his pockets and shrugging. "Looks like you guys had a fun night."

"We didn’t have sex, Isaac," Derek interrupted flatly, "the wraith attacked us."

Isaac shifted, shoulders hunching into an awkward shrug. "Oh."

"Did you guys kill it?" Scott asked. Stiles sat up, grabbing his discarded shirt, stiff but no longer damp, from where it was by the fireplace and shoving it on over his head. 

"Hell yes we did. I kicked it's ass."

Derek made a noise in the back of his throat that clearly implied the fact that he thought otherwise. Stiles twisted back, shoving his elbow into Derek's gut and then grunting when he hit nothing but rock solid muscle. 

"So what happened?" Allison asked, stepping around Stiles and Derek to grab the blanket and fold it up. 

"Stiles hit it with a taser, died in seconds," Derek murmured, standing up and tugging his shirt on. Stiles took a second to admire the sharp, defined cut of Derek's abs before his words registered. His face split into a grin, turning a smug look to the others.

"Who's awesome? This guy."

"He also almost got himself killed in the process," Derek added, reaching out and snatching Stiles' wrist to twist his arm around and inspect the bandages. He'd bled through them a little, and couldn't help but hiss in pain when Derek started to unravel the wrappings. Isaac reached into the first aid kit, tossing Derek a fresh roll while Allison tossed the folded blanket onto the couch.

"Dude, are you okay?" Scott asked, leaning in to get a look at Stiles' arms.

"Yeah, I just cut myself on some glass from the jeep--fuck," Stiles snapped his head up, a grimace coming to his face upon remembering the state of his beloved vehicle. "Dude, it's totally totaled," he groaned, moaning even louder when Derek tied off the bandages and it wrenched at his healing cuts. 

Isaac smiled, "you might need a new windshield but we put it upright. We followed your scent here after seeing it on the side of the road."

"Thanks," Stiles sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair, "the last thing I need is to call a tow right now. How's my dad?"

"Already texted him," Scott piped up, "told him we found you here. He wants the full story when you get home, just a heads up." 

Stiles flopped back against the ground, staring up at the ceiling and scowling. "You think he'd let me update the beastiary first?"

Derek snorted and Stiles jabbed him in the leg with his foot. When Derek rested his palm, soft and warm, against Stiles' ankle in a gentle hold, no one said a word. 

 

If Stiles thought that he and Derek would discuss what had occurred that night, he was dead wrong. Part of him was terrified to bring it up and every chance they had together part of his brain was screaming to just say the words, to ask and demand answers, to know how Derek felt about him and if he really thought they had the potential for a relationship. Each and every time, he'd open his mouth and instead of saying what he wanted, all that came out was a joke or an offhanded comment on something he'd seen on television or the internet. 

Stiles should have known that things were going to come to a head eventually but he hadn't expected it to happen while they were in the middle of dealing with a minotaur that had come straight out of a Greek history book, complete with the rage issues and a thirst for violence. 

"Faster! Faster, _run faster!_ ” Stiles screamed, hands fisted into the back of Derek’s shirt like a lifeline. Derek had him in a fireman carry, shoulder digging painfully into Stiles’ gut as he bolted through the forest, running as fast as his werewolf body could manage with Stiles’ added weight. Stiles’ bobbing vision was nothing but blurs and the sight of a massive, infuriated man-bull chasing them down with an axe that he carried like it weighed nothing. 

“Shut up!” Derek wheezed, taking a flying leap over a falling log and hitting the ground so hard that Stiles had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from puking. 

He swallowed a few times, focusing on his breathing and then letting out a shriek when the minotaur took a swing at them and missed his face by a scant few inches. “Derek!” he wailed, “you really need to run faster!”

“I’m going as fast as I can!” Derek roared, swerving around a series of roots and bushes before stumbling into the clearing that they’d been trying to reach for the past five agonizing minutes. 

“The circle!” Stiles yelped, trying to look over his shoulder for the fairy ring that was nestled between two birch trees on a clearing of grass and wildflowers. It looked disturbingly out of place and just a little entrancing. The fae that had constructed it had been passing through town when he and Lydia had caught up to it, offering a heap of goods in exchange for the protective ring. Stiles had been horribly disappointed over the fact that it was nothing more than a circle of enchanted mushrooms. It served a purpose, nonetheless, and that was as a safe zone for Stiles and the rest of his friends and family against any and all who sought to harm them.

Derek leapt into the circle, collapsing to his knees and dropping Stiles down next to him in a graceless heap. Stiles groaned, rolling onto his stomach and dry heaving a little. Derek wasn’t much better off, panting and coughing, rubbing at the healing gash in his side that he’d gotten from the minotaur’s axe just minutes before everything had gone downhill. The minotaur itself was circling them, snorting and gnashing its teeth before trying to swing the axe at them. It smashed into an invisible barrier, a bang echoing through the forest as the creature was pushed back into the forest. It let out a bellow of rage, stomping around the circle as if searching for a way to break through it.

Rolling onto his back, Stiles coughed and rubbed gingerly at his chest, “dude, I think I’m going to puke. I think you ruptured something with your massive brick of a shoulder. Ugh, I’m gonna die,” he whined, abdomen muscles twinging every now and then. 

“Can you shut up for five seconds?” Derek panted, wiping sweat from his brow and then flopping down beside Stiles. Stiles made a face, elbowing Derek in the side with a grunt.

“I’m stressed. This is a stressful situation, okay? Life or death is very high-anxiety for me. It’s a coping mechanism when dealing with near-death experiences.”

“You’re not dead,” Derek pointed out dryly, rolling his head to frown at Stiles. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I could be! If you would have waited for me to just pull up that thing on my phone, what’s it called again? Oh yeah, it’s a bestiary, Derek. It tells me about monsters, like this one. Maybe if you had just waited before going in claws-blazing or whatever, we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

Derek frowned, looking ready to toss Stiles right out of the ring without a second thought. “The last I checked, you don’t have direct neural access to the bestiary, which means that it would have killed you before you could even get your phone to load the browser!”

All words on the tip of Stiles’ tongue were lost as his brain short circuited, mind repeating Derek’s words over and over again in a sexy mantra. “Did... did you just talk nerdy to me?” he breathed, mouth falling open in a shocked gape.

Taken aback, Derek sat up and stared down at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles pushed himself up onto his elbows, still aware of the way their minotaur friend was still lurking nearby. “I mean, I gotta be honest, dude...that was kind of hot.”

The expression that crossed Derek’s face was one that looked torn between annoyance and amusement. His eyebrows pinched together and then rose up before dropping down again. Stiles could almost see a bar over his head that read ‘buffering...’ and the image made him crack a smile.

“It’s the adrenaline talking,” he offered weakly. “You can totally ignore that entire comment, I won’t take it personally.”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek huffed, getting to his feet and shaking his legs like he could just will the dirt away instead of losing his dignity by actually brushing them off. He crossed his arms, frowning out of the fairy ring to where the minotaur was watching nearby, axe at ready. 

Stiles sighed, pulling his legs into his chest and picking at a few strands of grass. He brought one to his lips, flicking some dirt off of it and inspecting it for a second. He brought it to his lips, blowing in hopes of making it whistle and ending up with nothing but the taste of grass in his mouth as he blew a raspberry onto it. Stiles wiped his mouth off, grimacing and dropping the grass to the ground. The downside to a fairy ring is that too much magic negated things like electronics, which meant they couldn’t phone for help, which would have been a really great option at that point.

“Well,” Stiles sighed, flicking the grass around and looking up at Derek before he stood up and brushed at his ass and thighs. “I’m out of ideas. No offense, buddy, but you don’t really have the greatest track record when it comes to winning a fight and we’re kind of trapped in here with this weird, ooey kind of sexual tension and it’s not really helping my stress levels right--” Stiles broke off with a screech when the minotaur lunged, bringing the axe hard against the barrier just inches from Stiles’ head. 

Stiles stumbled back, tripping over his own legs and going careening for the outside of the circle when Derek reached out to catch him. He pawed at Derek’s shirt, legs wobbling and refusing to find balance. Derek firmly snagged one of his arms, the other hand looped around Stiles’ back. “Calm down!”

Going still, Stiles took a deep breath, glancing over to Derek and admitting weakly, “we should probably wait for the others.”

Derek stared blankly at him, until Stiles pulled himself away and shrugged. “Any better ideas, ‘cuz I’m all out, man.”

“Do you have any idea how big this forest is? It could take them hours to find us! _Hours_.”

Stiles shrugged, “Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time we were trapped somewhere together for a few hours, so I guess you’ll just have to deal with it.” 

“I can always throw you out of the circle,” Derek muttered. Stiles whipped his head around, mouth falling open in a dramatically wounded expression that made Derek roll his eyes. 

"I feel the love," Stiles muttered sarcastically, plopping down on the ground with a huff. Derek snorted softly, focusing his gaze out into the forest, zeroing in on the minotaur like he could stare it into submission. Stiles squinted in the same direction, trying to see the creature but unable to spot it through the underbrush and trees. He sighed through his teeth, picking at the grass and tearing up a few blades before ripping them into tiny pieces. 

After a few minutes, Stiles heard the rustle of something walking away, going still and waiting until the sound disappeared. He glanced up at Derek, waiting for the 'all clear' but instead of stepping out of the ring, Derek sat down, crossing his arms and continuing to stare and scowl like it was his life's purpose. 

Stiles could only stand the quiet for so long before he huffed and shrugged, finally giving in to his internal debate on striking up conversation. "Soooo, uh..." he ripped up a few more strands of grass, fiddling with them and peering over at Derek from the corner of his eyes. "Are we ever gonna talk about that one time? You know, with the crazy ice monster and the hypothermia and cliche blankets and that ki--"

“I didn’t think you were serious,” Derek interrupted tightly, eyes trained out of the circle. Stiles made a soft noise in the back of his throat before he could stop it, chest giving a painful twinge. He curled his legs up into his chest, arms wrapping around his knees so he could keep fiddling with the grass. Derek shifted next to him, adding softly, "you wouldn’t want to be with me.”

Stiles lifted his head, tempted to turn and just smack the stupid out of Derek like he would have done with Scott. Derek didn't even give him the chance to react, shoulders twitching in what could have been a shrug. “I’m bad for people, that includes you.”

This time, Stiles punched him in the arm. It hurt his hand more than it hurt Derek, but the action was a little gratifying to see Derek looking taken aback. "Dude," he snapped, "we've known each other for years, don't even--I'm not them, okay--and you _know_ I can take care of myself. You know I'm on your side...you know _me_. Do you seriously think I'm joking about this?"

Derek eyed him for a beat, the corners of his lips twisting into a scowl that Stiles kind of wanted to kiss right off of his face. "You're serious," he said flatly, like the entire concept was just utterly foreign to him. 

Stiles flopped back against the grass, staring up into the treetops and sighing. "Uh, hate to break it to you, but I am. I'm so serious that I'm not even going to make a joke about Sirius Black, and you know how much I love Harry Potter."

"You just did," Derek pointed out.

Stiles sat up, if only to better stare at Derek, and gave him the flattest, most unamused look that he could manage. He brought a fist up, shaking it menacingly as if the threat of being punched again would make Derek act like less of a dick. Derek's mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but it wasn't worth the effort and he turned his head fully to face Stiles, expression becoming grim.

"I could hurt you."

"Yeah? So could half the things we come up against," Stiles said, gesturing to the ring of mushrooms around them for emphasis. "If you think about it like that, wouldn't it better to at least try instead of never knowing what we could have?"

"Your dad still doesn't like me," Derek said, looking desperate to find some kind of reason not to. Stiles had never wanted to prove someone wrong so badly in his life. If he could just get Derek to let himself have this, maybe he really could.

"Well my dad doesn’t like eating healthy either, but that doesn’t stop me from cooking it." Stiles grinned crookedly, bumping his shoulder into Derek's. "When have you ever known me to give something up just because my dad doesn't like it? I mean, I'm still here, aren't I?"

Instead of an answer, Derek nudged his shoulder right back into Stiles. He folded his hands together, staring down at his fingers and then clasping his palms. "Okay."

"Okay?" Stiles echoed, confused.

Lifting his head, Derek looked to Stiles and then bobbed his eyebrows, gesturing between himself and Stiles and then slowly saying, "... Yes?"

Understanding hit Stiles like a truck, face splitting into a ridiculously cheeky grin. "Oh, cool," he chirped, scooting a little closer to Derek until their hips were pressed together. He waited a minute, watching Derek relax just the tiniest bit until his back and shoulders were no longer a tense line. When that happened, Stiles leaned to the side, resting his head onto the curve of Derek's shoulder and then clasping his hands over his bent knees to get comfortable. 

At first, Derek didn't do anything, and then he brought one hand down and moved to wrap it around Stiles' shoulders in a loose hold. Stiles bit down on his lip to keep from smiling like an idiot, instead thumbing at a bit of thread that was on the frayed hem of his pant leg. "So... Speaking of food, I'm hungry."

"Mmmh," Derek murmured noncommittally, which was usually his way of agreeing without actually admitting anything. Stiles had spent the better half of the day with him, so he knew that Derek had gone just as long without eating as he had. His mouth watered just the tiniest bit at the thought of food and then he remembered that he was supposed to go grocery shopping earlier before they'd had the whole 'greek mythology gone wild' fiasco happen.

"Scott needs to hurry up. I was supposed to get groceries today, dude. I have to make dinner tonight. Ugh, I don't even know what to make." As he groaned, Stiles snuck a peek up to see Derek looking blankly into the forest. He really wanted for Derek to come over, to maybe coerce him into having dinner with his dad and himself. If there was anything Derek needed more than food, it was just to spend some non-supernatural related time with Stiles' dad. Part of the reason he was wary of Derek was only because he'd never really spoken to Derek much outside of violent and life threatening situations. 

"No ideas at all for food. I could bread some pork chops and roast a few potatoes. I could totally go for meatloaf. I'm starving." 

"Mmh," Derek grunted.

Letting out a long sigh, Stiles said magnanimously, "too bad I won't have time to make anything good by myself. I'll probably just pick up some burgers or something, since that's easier."

He hadn't expected Derek to take the bait, but when Derek tentatively offered, "I could help," Stiles thought his heart was going to explode out of his chest. He picked his head up, grinning at Derek and wanting to kiss him stupid right then and there.

Derek shrugged, schooling his expression. "You get cranky when your dad has burgers, it's for my own benefit," he muttered. Stiles laughed, nudging Derek and then shooting his hand up to grab Derek's when Derek tried to pull it from his shoulder. He laced their fingers together, not letting Derek have a chance to retreat into himself.

"You sure it's not about you and a free meal?" he teased, delighted when Derek offered him a small smile and a shrug.

"That might be part of it."

"Uh-huh," Stiles scoffed dramatically, "that's what I thought." He glanced out into the forest, face falling when he realized the reason they were out there in the first place. "Is it still out there?" 

"Yep," Derek popped the 'p' just a little bit, giving Stiles' fingers a gentle squeeze that had Stiles giving in to the urge to lean up against him. With his free hand, he wiggled his fingers down into his pocket to pull his phone out, checking the time and sighing upon realization that it had barely been a half hour since they'd been trapped inside the fairy ring. He opened up Scott's message conversation, letting out a groan upon remembering that magic and electronics didn't like one another very much. 

Stiles shoved his phone back into his pocket, looking up at Derek. "So... How 'bout them Mets?"

"We shouldn't just be sitting here," Derek groused, staring into the forest like he could kill the minotaur just with his frown alone.

"We could stand, but then my legs would get tired, I dunno about you."

The scowl on Derek's face deepened. They both knew he wouldn't survive in a fight with the minotaur but that didn't mean it wasn't going to drive Derek crazy being helpless.

After a painfully awkward silence, Stiles leaned more of his weight onto Derek and peered up at him, plastering the most innocent look on his face that he could manage. "So...wanna make out?"

"We’re in the middle of the woods with a giant, bloodthirsty monster watching our every move," Derek said flatly, "and you want to make out."

"What if the monster is grossed out by PDA and leaves?" Stiles suggested weakly. 

"Or maybe it doesn't and it keeps watching us," Derek retorted. Stiles stared until Derek turned to stare right back, eyebrows raised in a silent challenge.

Pulling back from Derek's warmth, Stiles extricated his hand from Derek's and gestured around them as frustration began to stir in his heart. "I can't be the only one working towards this thing that we may or may not have."

At first, Derek continued to stare, but then let out an aggravated sigh, glancing towards the forest and then back at Stiles. He ducked his head down, curling one hand around the back of Stiles' neck and dragging him into a gentle, chaste kiss. Almost immediately after, he wrenched away. Stiles didn't have a chance to get upset or hurt, because within seconds, Isaac and Scott were barreling in through the woods, completely wolfed out as they ran past and headed for where the minotaur had disappeared earlier. 

Derek leapt to his feet, taking only a second to turn and grasp Stiles' arms. "Stay here, okay?"

Stiles made a face and Derek squeezed his arms just the tiniest bit tighter. "Okay?" he repeated, voice urgent. 

"Okay," Stiles relented, "okay, I'll stay here. You go do your thing, wolfman."

Derek flashed him a smile and a short nod before turning and heading off into the woods. Stiles could hear the sound of a scuffle, followed by a deafening bellow and snarling. The trees shook and rattled, branches snapping every other second. Stiles paced the edge of the circle, squinting, trying to see some of the battle and failing miserably. He could hear a sharp, pained cry that sounded like Derek before it was cut off, followed by silence.

Trying to hold down on his panic, Stiles went to take a step out of the circle and then hesitated when he heard more rustling as something approached. "Derek? Scott? Isaac?" he called tentatively, hands shaking just the tiniest bit as his head ran over a handful of worst-case scenarios. Isaac emerged first, hair messy and full of leaves as Derek and Scott dragged the minotaur behind them. It was littered with deep claw wounds, blood coating the earth. 

"Is it--?" Stiles approached them and Isaac nodded, pulling some twigs from his hair.

"Yeah, now for the fun part."

Fun part being getting rid of the body, which was starting to become scarily routine when mythical creatures were involved. Apparently, not everything turned to ash postmortem the way they did in half the supernatural television shows. 

Using their claws, Derek, Isaac, and Scott set about burying the minotaur in an area remote enough that no one would notice the upturned earth. Stiles mostly monitored, tossing in a suggestion here and there until Scott threw a clod of dirt at him that landed right in Stiles' open and talking mouth. 

He sat and glowered for a little while, picking at some leaves and ripping the up until the minotaur was rolled into it's grave and dirt was piled back on top. He leapt to his feet, brushing his pants off.

"Right, so, evil vanquished--yay!--now if you don't mind, I've got to go grocery shopping before my dad comes home to an empty fridge and doesn't let me live it down for the rest of the week. Derek, come on, buddy, you're my ride."

"You have your jeep," Derek pointed out dryly, gesturing in the vague direction of where Stiles’ jeep had been left out by Derek’s house.

“Well,” Stiles began, “dude,” he mimicked Derek’s gesture in a more dramatic sweep of his arm, “my _jeep_ is at least two miles away, we’re in the middle of nowhere, and _you_ have super wolfy speed while I have the grace of a baby gazelle.”

Derek made a face like he wanted to point out that most gazelles had more control of their limbs than Stiles, but instead he rolled his eyes up into his head, crossed his arms, and then stared at Stiles.

“I can carry you?” Isaac offered tentatively, still picking dirt out of his claws. Derek’s bitchface became a scowl of epic proportions as he took a step towards Stiles.

“It’s fine, Isaac,” he muttered, turning and crouching for Stiles to climb onto his back. “Get on.”

Stiles bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from making any sort of lewd comments about wanting to get on Derek all day, every day, and shuffled forward. He slung his arms around Derek’s neck, hopping and then scrambling when he didn’t bring his legs high enough to get around Derek’s hips. Derek sighed, hands coming back to grasp Stiles’ ass and haul him up properly. Stiles _almost_ let out a girlish shriek, wrapping his legs around Derek’s stomach like a clingy octopus.

The shriek he’d been holding it let itself out when Derek shifted into his beta form and took off running through the forest.

 

They were barely down the first aisle at the store before Derek started to fuss. He glared at the shelves, wrinkled his nose at whatever food Stiles picked up and then huffed and stared off into the distance each time Stiles put something into the cart. Finally, enough was enough and Stiles threw the bag of frozen chicken he’d been reading at Derek, hitting him in the shoulder because Derek was too busy pouting to pay attention. 

Derek snapped his head around and Stiles flailed a hand at the cart. “Do you have a suggestion or something? Cause, seriously bro, you’re harshin’ my vibe here with all that doom and gloom.”

For a second, Derek actually looked sheepish, and then he shrugged and muttered, “just because it says low fat or sugar free doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

“Okay?”

“You want your dad to eat better, right?” Derek pulled the cart through the snack aisle, eyes flicking back to Stiles.

“Yeah...” Stiles narrowed his eyes skeptically, “what, do you want him to eat raw meat or something? Hate to break it to you, buddy, but that’s not how we humans like to eat.”

Derek rolled his eyes, grabbing rice cakes and showing them to Stiles before tossing them in the cart. He reached down, grabbing the low-fat potato chips and shoving them at Stiles.

“Put these back.”

Stiles stared until Derek reached out to grab his hand and slap the chips into them. He rolled his eyes, turning and going to put the chips back where he’d gotten them. When he returned, Derek shoved a can of nacho dip and the diet soda into his hands. “These too.”

“Seriously?”

Derek quirked his eyebrow and Stiles dragged his feet down the aisle to put both items back. Derek led him through the store, dropping in things like hummus, cottage cheese, almonds, granola, and a metric buttload of other foods Stiles had never actually tried before. Each time Derek grabbed something, he took a second to curtly list to Stiles at least two different ways to eat the food and why it was the superior option to whatever Stiles might have picked.

“Dude,” Stiles stared down at the cart, frowning, “we’re kind of on a budget, you know.”

“I’ll cover whatever you can’t,” Derek responded almost immediately, like he’d been waiting for Stiles to say something. He tossed a package of salmon into the cart and Stiles snagged it up with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Salmon? Are you a wolf or a bear?” he asked, smiling just a little bit. Derek rolled his eyes, adding a package of mahi mahi and then guiding Stiles towards the produce section. He threw in some carrots, celery, spinach, and a few bananas before Stiles’ attention started waning. Boredom itched in the back of his head and he peered down into the rapidly filling cart.

“Hey Derek,” Stiles reached into the basket, pulling out a packet of alfalfa sprouts. Derek glanced up, a container of grapes in his hands, and frowned when Stiles propped the sprouts on the top of his head and contorted his face into a glower. “I’m the alfalfa now,” he mock-growled.

Without hesitation, Derek reached out to snatch the package back. Stiles leaned away with a smile, laughing and ducking Derek’s hand again. “Aw, what’s the matter, big bad wolf can’t take a joke?”

“Put those back in the cart,” Derek snapped, though there wasn’t much anger to his words. When he reached for the sprouts again, Stiles ducked to the left and gave Derek’s side a teasing shove. The side of Derek’s foot caught on a display of plums and he twisted his body, grabbing at Stiles to try and steady himself and instead pulling them both to the ground. Stiles hit Derek’s chest with a rush of air leaving his lungs, head spinning as plums scattered all around them. He couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping him, cackling into Derek’s collarbone and then laughing that much harder when he sat up to see the mortified expression painted all over Derek’s face. 

Climbing off of Derek’s stomach, Stiles reached a hand out to help him to his feet and they both proceeded to clean up the mess they’d made. Derek was muttering a constant litany of apologies to the associates who were also cleaning up, going so far as to offer monetary compensation to make up for the hassle and the plums that hadn’t survived the fall. 

It wasn’t surprising that, after everything had been cleaned up, Derek practically hightailed it to the checkout. Stiles watched the numbers grow higher and higher as each food item was scanned but just when he was ready to tell the cashier to stop ringing, Derek shouldered him out of the way and pulled his wallet out.

Part of Stiles wanted to tell Derek he didn’t need to pay, but a bigger part of him knew that if Derek didn’t want to or couldn’t afford it, he wouldn’t have offered. Instead, Stiles sidled in close until their shoulders were brushing and pitched his voice low. “Thanks, man.”

Derek glanced over, quirking an eyebrow up, and Stiles shrugged.

“Seriously. Not just for paying, but for, y’know, the health advice. I... yeah. You’re awesome,” Stiles took in a deep breath, giving Derek a tiny smile and then surging in to press their lips together quickly. He pulled back, taking enjoyment in the dazed look on Derek’s face before moving to help the cashier put the bagged groceries into the cart. 

 

 

After arriving at the Stilinski home and putting everything away to set up for dinner, the first thing Derek did was line the counter with everything required for dinner. Stiles had barely tossed the salmon onto the skillet before Derek started making faces in the midst of pulling down spices from the cabinet. Stiles only could handle the glowering for so long before he whipped out his spatula to prod Derek in the chest with it. “ _What?_ Why are you making faces?” he hissed. Derek rolled his eyes, snatched the spatula from him, and practically hip-checked Stiles away from the oven to take over the cooking process.

“Go cut the broccoli,” he commanded, gesturing to the full head of it sitting innocently on the counter, “but wash it first.”

“Hey,” Stiles protested, miffed, “this is my kitchen, not yours.”

“Really,” Derek deadpanned, “I hadn’t noticed.” He didn’t even spare Stiles a glance as he adjusted the temperature on the range. 

Stiles’ mind ran through a hundred witty retorts but by the time he could even think of anything to say too much time had passed and he merely sighed and reached for the broccoli and took it over to the sink. He rinsed it thoroughly, setting up next to Derek at the counter to start cutting it into smaller, more bite-sized pieces. 

At some point, instead of asking Stiles to pass him the nearby lemon, he reached around Stiles’ back, chest pressed up against Stiles’ entire body, and plucked it off of the counter. Stiles didn’t even think much about his own actions, leaning up against Derek’s chest and then twisting his head to kiss at the corner of Derek’s mouth.

Derek pulled back in surprise, glancing down at Stiles with an unreadable expression. Stiles fiddled with the broccoli in his hand, wondering if he should pull back, when Derek set the lemon down and cupped his hand against the nape of Stiles’ neck to pull him into another kiss. 

It was only a few seconds long and by the time Stiles was used to the soft, warm feeling of Derek’s lips on his own, they were gone and Derek was grabbing the lemon again to slice it up for zest on the salmon. Stiles’ whole face was warm and the back of his neck burned from where Derek’s hand had been. He smiled, unable to help himself, and went back to slicing the last of the broccoli.

Stiles’ dad showed up right around the time that their food was being dished out onto plates. Stiles had texted him in advance, so when he came over to the dining table to see Derek with Stiles, all he did was greet them both with a curt nod and a smile. 

“How’d the hunt go?” Sheriff asked, taking a seat and staring at the plate that Derek set before him. A myriad of expressions crossed his face--like he wanted to complain about the abundance of _healthy_ in his meal but couldn’t feel justified when everything on the plate was practically making him salivate. Stiles considered it a win when his dad grabbed his fork and started to dig in. 

“Good. Took care of the minotaur. It was a piece of cake.” Stiles chirped, chowing down on some cheese-drizzled broccoli florets.

The snort that came from Derek made Stiles jerk his foot out, toes connecting with the side of Derek’s shin. He took great satisfaction in the grimace that flickered over Derek’s face as a result. He stabbed at his salmon, grinning up at his dad. “We’ve got a pretty good streak going on. No other incidents since the wraith, maybe we can keep it u-uh--up,” Stiles fumbled over his last word when Derek’s ankle hooked around his own. He cleared his throat, reaching for his water and then settling his other leg on top of Derek’s ankle. 

“You put that thing in your book?” Stiles’ father asked, obliviously picking at his own meal. Derek wiggled his ankle free, prodding Stiles in the leg and then drawing his foot back.

“Uh, yeah. I’m thinking of self-publishing a copy of what I’ve got so far, just so I have a back up,” Stiles explained, swinging his foot over to try and snag Derek’s back again. “It’d be cool to have a legible hard copy around. I need to get Isaac to sketch some--”

The Sheriff jerked, glancing under the table and frowning. “Son, did you just kick me?”

Derek let out a strangled noise like he’d tried to swallow a laugh and Stiles choked on a mouthful of salmon before coughing and willing his face to stop burning.

“Sorry, still a little stressed from the day,” Stiles apologized, “you know, the whole fighting and killing creatures of the night can give a guy some serious fidgeting issues.”

Stiles’ father eyeballed him for a long second before he sighed and went back to eating. Stiles instantly dove into a rant about self-publishing websites and how he could have Isaac try to illustrate or he could commission professionals and that both options were equally appealing. As soon as their plates were cleared, Stiles’ dad bade them goodnight before heading upstairs to sleep before his double shift the following day. 

Derek followed Stiles into the kitchen, helping him stack everything into the dishwasher. The entire air felt like it was charged with some sort of energy--like both of them wanted to touch the other but neither wanted to be too forward. It wasn’t until the kitchen was cleaned and Stiles was left standing alone with Derek that he finally managed to find word.

“So... this is really awkward. Can we not make this awkward?” he asked, trying not to sound too pathetic. Derek shrugged in that ‘my whole life is awkward’ kind of way and crossed his arms over his chest. Stiles huffed out a breath through his teeth, taking a determined step into Derek’s personal bubble and leaning forward slowly enough that Derek had plenty of time to pull away.

Derek met him halfway in a kiss, one hand coming down to rest on Stiles’ hip and the other curling around his shoulder. It was nice--slow and leisurely in a way that Stiles had never really expected from Derek. He brought his arms up to rest on Derek’s shoulders, stepping in closer and parting his lips to deepen the kiss. The kitchen was silent, save for the whirring of the dishwasher and the soft sound of their mouths pressing together in deep, lazy kisses. When Stiles finally pulled back, his mouth felt tender and his heart was thudding heavily in his chest.

He grinned, stomach fluttering when Derek returned the smile with one of his own. It was probably the best moment of his life. 

Stiles was pretty positive it was only the first of many to come.

**Author's Note:**

> *waves white flag* hey look, i'm not dead


End file.
